In Which Sarge Examines the Spring within the Spring...

Cpl.,

Is love simply ambition? An idea of what life should be when in fact we are fighting the familiar night sweats and mundanities of our true lives? Unexpectedly I must call off my return to Tallinn though I know there she remains. Perhaps the words we never speak are the thoughts we use when we have nothing else left: the things that remind us to live so that we may tell one more story.

Nwargo has been in contact and the red schoolhouse has a broken window. It looks like hell to pay but the chase is everything. I think Plato was wrong and that meaning and reality don't come from The Ideal but rather, simply, from time and the inability of anything to retain form and structure infinately. Flux is meaning. Our desire to create permanance is philosophy. The idea of perfection is, of course, pure philosophy.

I remember that in Commando school, when we took the philosophy class, Wilmot complained about the utility of the thing and the instructor just smiled. I understand that smile now, the smile of a man who has had to kill without meaning and must find solace in the weak light of tomorrow. You were particularly skilled in that class and it has always impressed me, so forgive me these broken thoughts; here, in Moscow, the sun has been down for a long time now.

I must leave questions of loyalty, betrayal and double-cross to you and Ranger for the moment. It's a twin-prop plane and a hydrofoil to my first destination, then it's another plane. At my first stop, there are famous hot springs I have read about. I have discovered that the elders found in towns with hot springs are usually kind and welcoming souls.

with best wishes to you and Berlin,

Sarge